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'h1e JI i Ilutch o !Jtirilc 1\ (>. lc::r
iL the man (originally from Terre llautei
whose fond memries of the old hotel are
limited to his having been kicked out from its
free-!unch counter in 1873-
\t this hotel always stopped -lr . Magic
1]rown. Irs. Brown as a bony woman of
sixty, dressed in the rustiest black, and carry-
ing a handbag made, apparently, from the kin
i 1the rigin;il ;imal that Adam decided( to
i c'
h '/' //!
!I'At
have looked o\vr the back hair and neat white
shirtwaist of Aliss Bates was equal to a: full
course in any correspondence school in the
country. She Somctimes dlid a little t\'!pwriting
for me and, as she refin ed i ti Ito tae the
in tlavanC, she came to lootk upon e a1 sonwi -
thiing of a friend and prot(ge. She had un-
failing kindliness and good nature: and not
even a white-lead drumnIr or a fur importer
i,!ops at th/e door and rt!beri t im i(c e n n'i Hi'cis"
ll an alliigator. >he !vays icculpied a small
parlr an1(d bedroom at the top of the hotel at a
rental of two dollars Iper day. And always,
while she was there, each day came hurrying
to see her many men, sharlp-faced, anxious-
looking, with only seconds to spare. For
\lagic Brown was said to be the third richest
woman in the world: and these solicitous
I'entrilein were only the city's wealthiest
rokcri :and business men seeking trailing loans
of half a dozen million r -so from the dling old
lady v ih the lprehistoric handbag.l:.
iihe t enograplher and typc\lritcr of the
AcrpIlis Hotel (there! I've let the name of it
out) wmas Aliss Ida Bates. She was a hold-
,er from the Greek classics. There wasn't a
law in her looks Some o tld-imer in paying
i rega-ds to a ladlv said: "TI'o have ] vcd
her a n liberal d aIion. H IL <
had ever dared to cross, the dead line of good
behavior in her plresenc. The entire force of
the Acroplolis, from the owner, who lived in
Vienna, down to the head porter, who had
been bedridden for sixteen years, would haVx
sprung to her defense in a moment.
()ne lay I walked past liss bIate' lilh:
sanctum I ecmingtoiriumin (or whatever r makile f
machine ad ertises in these agcs), and iaw in
her place a black-haired unit--unmistaikably a
erson, -]-pounding with each o(f her forcfingers
upon the keys. lMusing (on the nmuitability of
temporal affairs. I passed on. The next iday I
willt oni a two eeks' vacation. Returning, I
strolled through the lobby of ih ( rplis, and
saw, with a little warmn glow f auld lang syne,
Miss Bates, as Grecian and kind and wl css as
eer. just putting the )over on her Smith-p l'rem.
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